


Adilene, the First

by Aine Llewellyn (Mapon)



Category: Otherfaith Religion & Lore
Genre: F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mapon/pseuds/Aine%20Llewellyn
Summary: Adilene did all those things, her heart practically jumping out of her chest with joy when she danced about the dining room and kitchen, but the visitors she welcomed were more irritated by her antics than entertained.





	Adilene, the First

Adilene lived on the outskirts of the City and the farmlands, in the space her mother had often called “just close enough for comfort and just far enough for solitude”. The house had been there almost as long as the West had existed, according to her mother. Adilene was inclined to trust the claim. She came from a long line of women who had lived there for generations. There were pictures in the album - the one she kept tucked away near her bed, just under the bookshelf shrine that her mother and all the mothers before her had maintained - of the City being built skyscraper by skyscraper. The farmlands to the west had hardly changed since her home had been built all those years ago. The pictures in the album were almost exact reflections of the view out her own window she saw every morning over coffee.

Visitors were a common sight. She was the last stop out of the City, after all, and most all the urban dwellers realized they’d forgotten this or that important doodad once they’d left the city limits. Years ago, during the time of her mother’s mother, most travelers just wanted food and drink and perhaps a heavy coat if they were heading to the orchards during winter. Now the travelers wanted odd wires and square devices for their equally odd glowing tablets. Her mother had told her to change with the times, but Adilene maintained her small home exactly as she always had. The new technology of the City made her head hurt. The new travelers spoke too fast, were too rude, were too loud. 

She hardly needed the funds the City folk gave her anyway. Their money was only good for exchanging with the farmers, since Adilene avoided the City as much she could. She remembered the City as it was when she was young, not taller than her mother’s knee. Then its streets had been loud and full of the chaos of horses and carriage. Such a time was like molasses compared to the speed of the City now. She could not walk the streets without bumping into a thousand strangers, all unconcerned with what was around them, all of them yelling into their little square phones so loud that Adilene couldn’t hear herself think. 

Of course, refusing to go into the City meant that she spent her nights alone. She was not good company for the new sort of travelers passing through. Her mother had entertained thousands upon thousands of guests during her time as the patroness of the Rose Cabin. She would cook and eat and drink with her visitors, sing and dance and indulge. 

Adilene did all those things, her heart practically jumping out of her chest with joy when she danced about the dining room and kitchen, but the visitors she welcomed were more irritated by her antics than entertained.

She kept herself warm with the fire she stoked in the hearth instead of any companionship. Her mother had dozens of lovers, passionate affairs that lasted up until her death. Adilene had so few she could count them on one hand. Her hearth fire was a better companion now. 

She spent her time in the kitchen, cooking and keeping the skills her mother and her mother’s mother and her mother’s mother’s mother had kept, and when she was done she ventured into the forest. The farmlands offered a wonderful supply of fruits and meats, but the forest held its own bounty. Fungi grew in the dark shadows of the trees. Bark that would steep into a lovely tea. Fruits that even the orchard could not beat in texture and taste.

The flow of travelers had been especially bad of late. Some important someone or other at the orchard was drawing a flow of people. The chance for coin was tempting, but the noise was too much. Adilene had set the sign on the door to closed and wandered into the forest, a basket tucked against her hip. The sun hung lazily in the sky. The forest was damp from the recent rains, the scent of dirt and flowers filling her lungs. 

It was almost, almost as good as the scent of the City, back when she was young.

She was perched over a bushel of mushrooms, growing in the crevice of a tree’s trunk, when a twig snapped behind her. The sound was as loud as a gunshot. Less of a twig and more of a branch, crushed beneath the foot of some gigantic fauna, no doubt. She whipped around, her wild red hair spilling out of her bun, ready to bolt at the sight of whatever was crunching through the forest.

The god of the West was there. No moose or elk or dragon. Adilene felt her breath catch anyway. She had seen the Clarene, the King of the Westernlands, from her window. The god would wander the fields on rare occasion, feet above the highest grain, her gait slow. She had been nothing more than a large shadow illuminated by the sun behind her then. 

Now, standing right in front of her, the Clarene was mountainous. As large as a mountain, but then surely not. She did not tower over the canopy of the trees. She did not even reach their midsection, if Adilene truly looked at the god. It simply felt as if she was larger, larger than anything else in the forest, and wider too. As if she were the King of all, her presence dominating even that which was bigger than herself.

“…holy one,” Adilene said, unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth. The mushrooms that would have made her dinner were forgotten. 

The god tilted her head. A cascade of tightly curled hair fell over her shoulder, but far more than that Adilene noticed the antlers on the god’s head. There were more points than she could count. She knew, from the stories her mother had told her, that the Clarene wore different horns and antlers for the seasons. She could wear a ram’s horns one year and a bull’s the next. Even antelope, her mother had said, earning a yelp of excitement from Adilene. 

It was different to see the crown of antlers firsthand. They seemed too big, too heavy, to be held so easily on the Clarene’s head.

The Clarene stepped forward, crunching more branches under her. Her legs were not made of flesh but instead of wood, as dark as her skin, shaped into hooves. The wooden appendages were held in place by straps that threaded up to a harness on the god’s hips, the only clothing she wore.

Adilene took in the god’s form, unabashedly raking her gaze up and down. Her exam was cut short when the god snapped her fingers. Clothes materialized out the air, as if from nothingness, surrounding the god in gold and black silks that hid her nakedness.

It was too late, Adilene thought. The image was burned into her mind, never to be expunged. 

“I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone,” the Clarene said as way of explanation. She held out her hand. Adilene frowned, realizing only then that she was still sat on the ground, pressed so hard against the trunk of the tree behind her that her back ached. She didn’t even remember pulling back in fear or awe.

She swallowed, her throat itching for lack of moisture, and took the god’s hand.

“And what is your name, fiery one?” the Clarene asked.

Adilene laughed despite herself. Of course she would be given a nickname like that. Her flaming red hair had been her family’s most notable trait, and her hair always had a way of slipping out of whatever bun or tie she put it in, flowing around her face like fire.

“I’m Adilene. I live near here, in the Rose Cabin.”

“Ah,” the Clarene said. Without prompting, she lifted Adilene into her arms. “I’ll take you home. Perhaps I can bring you something from the orchard to fill you properly.”

“I’m sorry?” Adilene said with a laugh.

With a step or two, no more, the Clarene had returned them to the cabin. The walk would have taken Adilene at least an hour, perhaps more if she had gotten distracted by flora or fauna on the way. 

“You look as if you haven’t had a proper meal in years,” the Clarene answered. She set Adilene down at the doorstep. Adilene’s legs, at least, were functioning. She had feared they might buckle and cause her to stumble, making a fool of herself once more. “And you’re frightfully pale.”

“No,” Adilene said, her voice barely above a whisper. She coughed and refocused her gaze on the god’s face. “That is just how I look. Like skimmed milk.”

For a brief second the Clarene smiled. It was wry, a soft snort following it, but as soon as Adilene had seen it the grin was gone. 

“You look far better than skimmed milk,” the god said. She extended her hand once more, her palm flat. Adilene stared in confusion.

Pressure built around them, popping her ears. Just as clothes had appeared from the ether to cloak the god, a loaf of bread now sat on her palm. She pressed it to Adilene’s chest.

“An apology for frightening you earlier.” The Clarene glanced toward the farmland. The sun, once so lazily hanging in the sky, was now sinking against the horizon. “I should be returning now. Be sure to eat that. You mustn’t starve.”

Adilene thought to say that she wasn’t starving, she was doing quite well for herself, but the Clarene was gone before she could even open her mouth. Soft thunder sounded in the distance. 

Adilene dug her fingers into the loaf of bread. The crust was crunchy but the inside soft and warm. She stared at the sunset and ate, leaning against her front door, her eyes unseeing the play of colors on the horizon. She was far away, back in the forest, so far away that she didn’t even remember finishing the bread and falling into her bed, asleep.

And then she awoke.

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2019 Pagan Blog Project, prompt "A".


End file.
